‘Oh, a funeral, I suppose it was your friend again. Well, she’s dead, and the dead can bury themselves. I need you here and now. I’m afraid. I’m going to give birth to two boys, and I have this fear that they are going to be monsters. You will come now, won’t you?’
‘Yes, I’ve just got to change and then I’ll be there,’ with her other hand, Cecelia was dismantling her dress by undoing the buttons.
No wonder Ruth believed she was going to give birth to monsters after the destruction she had done to her body. Too late now for regrets. Out of the black and into the yellow, Cecelia’s skin and dark hair could take this color. Most of her life she had chosen to wear black or gray.
Money was now draining quickly out of Cecelia’s pocket; it was wicked because she didn’t command much. But again, she had no choice when need demanded to act straight away. Cecelia took a cab to the clinic.
‘I’ve come to see Mrs. Blaine,’ she ran exhaustedly through to the reception. ‘She’s asked for me.’ As she ran, she was hoping that Frank the receptionist would know what she meant.
In the elevator, Cecelia went to the third floor where the delivery room was, she was still running. The children of the damned were about to be born.
‘Stop!’ Mr. Deer called to Cecelia. ‘Where are you going?’
‘It’s Mrs. Blaine, she has been calling for me. She needs me by her side.’
Hate sat perched in his eyes; he was staring at her as if he could murder her. ‘You can’t go in there until you’re washed up. If you contaminate the child, you could kill it.’
‘I understand sir.’ Thankful for his lack of interrogation, Cecelia made her way to the changing room where she intended scrubbing up and putting on her clean uniform.
But other thoughts were stealing her movements because Cecelia stopped to watched Mr. Deer walking away. There was something on her mind urging her to do something and not put it off as she kept on doing. This became her opportunity while Mr. Deer was occupied with something else. She knew where his office was, this is where he had interviewed her.
Hardly anyone came to this side of the building, there was no need to, it was the business part of the clinic, yet, Cecelia was still nervous because what she intended to do was illegal. Rules had been set down, mandates followed, a person in charge could do this sort of thing in their clinic, cover up and lie. But where were those rules when it came to the justice of what is right and wrong? Justice came with investigation, and the answers which were found from those meddling questions.
Upon reaching Mr. Deer’s office door, her heart began thumping, and her ears hearing sounds which weren’t there. But blast, she should have credited him more than she had because she found his door was locked. For a few seconds of frustration and anger at the door, Cecelia moved away. Everything she did was without a plan; it was as if she was allowing life to do to her what it wished. When, from behind the corner, Mr. Blaine was walking, beating his feet on the washed vinyl floor towards her.
Their eyes met on impact. He was regarding her with interest as if it was his right to know what she was doing there. Lowering her eyes, Cecelia carried on walking away, hoping he wouldn’t say anything to Mr. Deer and then wondering if Mr. Blaine would call her back to question her.
These few seconds followed on an ecstasy of fear. The challenge of terror comes when it has no power. Mr. Blaine held every currency when it came to the supremacy of control, while her need to run out of the building was great to protect herself. What on earth had she got herself into? Was it really worth losing her life for this, even though people had died for less?
It was now that Cecelia understood how ill-equipped she was to write a living story, and it was also now that she blamed Angelina for choosing her instead of someone else. Why had she done this? A broken-down person, broken in the mind from the severing of strings which give confidence, love and with the advice that it is your right to take part in life. Cecelia had lost that right many years ago.
Over twenty years ago and still the bitterness seeps through.
Now she had never had anything to do with her mother, she didn’t even care if she was alive or not, not after what she had done to her father. People accept that a woman is the victim of abuse, but they failed to accept so readily that it can often be the man. And Tina had abused him badly, not by striking him, but by humiliating him. While he still carried on loving and caring for her, because she was his wife.
She could never understand why her dad didn’t say anything against his wife when she targeted him with her weapons of bullying.
Yet, what happened had been her fault. All that blame, Cecelia accepted every throw of scarring acid to what happened to her father during those last few weeks. She had listened and watched through the years how her mother would taunt him and mock him. Later, after those terrible words, Cecelia would creep up and comfort him, putting her arm around him to tell him that she loved him.
Year after year passed with her faithful love until she reached thirteen and puberty had started, and then, suddenly she was ashamed of him. Angry at how he allowed himself to be abused and frustrated that he never tried to defend himself.
“Why don’t you defend yourself,” Cecelia as a girl shouted at him. He looked at her and smiled so tenderly that it almost melted her. “I love your mother. How can I be cruel to her?” he had said. “Do you know how embarrassing it is to know that you’re my father? I’m ashamed of you.” It was the voice of her mother talking and the power that came with it was liberating. Now with the feeling of anger, Cecelia wanted to hit her father, she hated him for being so weak, but then alternatively, she wanted to hug and protect him. If he could only stand up for himself and say just one angry word to her mother, her mother would back off. But not once had he spoken critically of her “Cecelia, I am so sorry I’ve been a disappointment to you. But try not to judge me—or your mother too harshly. I can’t do what is not in me to do.” Anger built up in Cecelia’s face. “Then you’re a fool, and I don’t want anything more to do with you. You make me sick. My friends laugh at you, they call you a coward and a wimp. They all laugh at you.” This wasn’t true, her friends knew nothing about her family except what Cecelia chose to tell them which was that her mom and dad allowed her to do whatever she liked. “I’m ashamed and embarrassed to have you as my father. Why don’t you do yourself a favor,” she said walking away feeling powerful, pleased that she showed her father how angry she was with him? Perhaps now he would pull himself together and act like a man. But she hadn’t meant that he should kill himself. No, she hadn’t meant that at all, and that’s what she kept on telling herself years later. What she had meant was that he should divorce his wife. Didn’t she? This was what she meant; she was sure of it.
Years later and this same argument continued. She had wanted him to stand up for himself just that once. But the stupid man didn’t understand this. He strangled himself in woodlands with a rope where no one could see to stop him. And she had killed him. This awful memory rang deep in her head. She felt that she had killed her father because she told him that she had stopped loving him. No one could ever love her like her father, and she had killed the person she loved the most. The arsenal of words is crueler than the sharpest dagger.
But what did this mean to her now? If she could return to that day and repair the damage. If she could grab hold of him and hug him. If she could have been on his side and tell him that all would be well and that he could divorce his wife and that she would live with him and not her mother. But he wouldn’t do that, he wouldn’t leave her mother. How stupid was that? How stupid and cruel is life?
Unable to forgive herself for her part in his suicide, she felt it better to be glad that he was dead. Yet, this too was also a lie. The conversation continued with who was to blame, but it always ended up being her.
The strength of remorse carries a life sentence. When would the time come when she could say to herself that she had suffered enough? When can she make peace with herse
lf and allow those demons of the past to make their way home? Perhaps never. Or perhaps accomplishing good acts would outdo the wrong and give her peace. Cancel out the cruel with overwhelming love. Or, perhaps she must change the nature of herself to understand life.
With the unborn innocence and Angelina and now Samantha’s spirit, these three were freed to find their peace. While for Cecelia, forgiveness came in appeasement by giving balm and justice for their wrongs. It was on the surface of knowledge and wisdom where she would find it.
Returning to the changing room, Cecelia scrubbed up and gowned herself before moving quickly to the delivery room. In the distance, she heard Ruth’s frightened voice crying from inside the birthing room.
‘I’m here, Ruth,’ Cecelia cool and refreshed hurried across to Ruth’s white drained forever tanned face.
‘Oh Clara, I’m so scared—take out the babies like you did the others. Give me something for the pain,’ she was looking about the room for Mr. Deer, while still holding on to Cecelia’s hand.
‘You’ll be fine,’ assured a platitude low voice. Behind a white mask it was still evident who the bullish, ugly man was; even dressed in the gowns of a white-clad religion. Mr. Blaine was not a handsome man and even scrubbed up and covered by the dress of amputation, it couldn’t conceal the structure of a tank. Yet, his grotesque became beautiful when bathed and dressed in his wealth. Taking no interest in Cecelia, he stood over his wife as if he was inspecting a new weapon.
‘Just calm down. We don’t want anything to happen to our sons.’
A quick glance to Cecelia gave her cold eyes and an indifference that she wasn’t even there to him before turning his attention back to his wife.
No affection for this woman who was to provide his life with pride. What was about to happen now was what he desired most in the world, young images of himself who would follow him to secure his vanity? These children would remember him in their lives. With flesh like his, a nuclear weapon would chime into the world that he had extorted. Who are we if we don’t leave a future behind?
Finding no compassion, Ruth screamed, this wasn’t what she was promised. It didn’t make sense to tell her that she would be fine when her pain was telling her different. Wasn’t she the one he loved the most? And yet, he continued to tell her that she would be fine because his mother had seven children, and all were natural births. That might be the way his mother had them, but it wasn’t for her, she was not a peasant.
No one could stop her screaming. Her insides were being pulled out. The thing inside was growing bigger, it was thriving, kicking and grabbing. It had razors in its hands and was slashing about her from within.
‘Give me an epidural,’ she screamed like a shrieking Valkyrie, and then an opiate. Ruth didn’t want to suffer any pain; it was her body. Kill the babies if you must. Just please don’t let me be hurt.
Her slenderness now was against her, especially around her hips. It wasn’t possible to have a normal birth. Get rid of these monsters and she will have more, but the next time it would be different.
‘You’ll be fine,’ the beast pacified ignoring the blood which was pouring out from between her legs. Rivers of blood for his fabled children.
Time after time Ruth screamed for mercy, it was awful. Many times, Cecelia wanted to put her hands to her ears, the wrench of compassion was pulling her apart and red was now pouring from the table everywhere.
Yet, completely immune to Ruth’s pain Mr. Deer’s interest diverted to see if the straps around Ruth’s ankles were still secure. A final surging scream was met with the hand of benevolence, Ruth passed out. It came as another metal instrument was handed to Mr. Deer to exercise the birth path of the new.
The first son was pulled out crinkled and fighting and feeling the sting of the cold air about him. Eyes, ears, legs, head, and arms were pulled out still intact and ready for the world. It was just as well that Ruth wasn’t conscious when the second son entered the world marbled with the blood of its mother.
Two tiny boys, one larger than the other had commenced their lives, tempted by the dry world about them to take their first breaths before crying. It was a wonder to his father to see his firstborn, little fists curled punching the air that Mr. Blaine laughed with pleasure. This was his son. He had done this. This was his creation. This child was telling the world that their father the emperor was here.
So, this was what it was all about. Two more males will take their places amongst the living, two more voices, two more sets of human rights had made it. Cecelia had released Ruth’s hand to step back and survey the scene. The father had taken his first son, wrapped in a blanket as the still bloody child was crying, bleating like a young lamb while trying to escape his father’s hands. Did he want to go back to where it was safe and warm?
‘You will be a rich man,’ Mr. Blaine said to his son holding the child high in front of him. ‘And people will bow at your feet, just like they do to your father.’
Still, the child cried unimpressed by its father.
‘We need to do the medical checks your two sons,’ Mr. Deer's expressionless face was waiting to receive the first son, already the second son had been taken off quickly.
‘What do you mean?’ Mr. Blaine didn’t want to be parted with his possession.
‘It’s procedure. Check his heart and see how his limbs are. We need to know if he’s healthy.’
‘All my children are healthy. They don’t dare be ill.’
‘If you refuse them their health checks, then let it be understood that you take the responsibilities,’ Mr. Deer was indifferent to this man’s claim to fame.
Stark eyes against indifferent eyes, the child was given to a nurse and taken away to be first weighed, checked out and then cleaned. The first indignities of the miracle of life.
So, this was life, Cecelia walked out of the delivery room to get washed up. Two of the fertilized eggs were allowed to live while the others had been macerated and flushed away.
Exhaustion filled Cecelia’s head and body as if it had been her who had given birth to the unidentical twins.
14
One hell of a Saturday and still not over, in the tumult Cecelia had forgotten about Peter and how he was, and their pending life together. New lives alter everything.
What would she do about Angelina’s story? Somehow, after the birth of these two young and real boys, it didn’t seem to matter what happened about the third child since some good had come out his supposed death. For, death is death, it was a finality. Their removal from her womb gave the remaining two a greater chance in life. Sometimes, it’s the way life is, removing some to make room for others.
Tomorrow, Cecelia promised, she would talk to Ruth to find out how she was. But for now, Ruth’s body was a mess. A lot of stitching was needed to repair the raw ends of her womb. The entry of these two babies into the world had cost their mother dearly, and they didn’t even know it.
Unusual for Peter not to come to dinner, Cecelia was waiting for him in the dining room. How was she going to ask about seeing him at Angelina’s funeral? If she told him that she had seen him there, it would mean that she owed him an explanation as well. Lying to Peter was harming their relationship. Even if it was a strange relationship, she still owed some allegiance to it.
Angelina was dead now and laid to rest and nothing could harm her or the fetuses. What did it matter anymore? You have to say goodbye to sadness from the path where others got off, soon, your time would come when you must make your exit. It would be better for her if she thought this way. It would be safer. Mr. Blaine had got the sons he wanted and Ruth, the product of greed had paid for it.
Time goes by very quickly, she thought while watching dinner being brought to the first tables. Soon the landlord would be bringing Peter’s and her dinner, gammon, and pineapple. Peter was going to miss it unless she explained to the landlord that he had been to a funeral this afternoon. But first, perhaps she had better go to his room to see if he was there, just to che
ck. How different she felt today after witnessing two new births. A time to understand your own worth and the journey everyone takes to get here.
Dashing up the stairs to his room before dinner was served to their table. A sharp rap on his door told her that Peter hadn’t returned. It was her responsibility to save his dinner. So, with a brief explanation to the landlord that Peter was held up, could he please save his dinner? On Peter’s behalf, she apologized.
But, in the turn of five seconds, Peter arrived, walking into the dining room with a face of rabidity as if he was almost foaming at the mouth.
‘Leave my dinner there,’ Peter ordered the landlord. Speaking to him as if he was a servant. ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes.’
His friendliness to Cecelia was also thwarted. A brief glance to her before turning away as if he didn’t know her or, if he did, he despised her.
This show of bad temper bewildered Cecelia, a changeling had taken his place. A man she thought she knew had become a monster. She didn’t like him like this.
While watching his dinner cooling, this became a time for examination. If he could change this quickly with no apparent reason, then he was dangerous. It reminded Cecelia of her mother.
Tersely and with exact manners, Peter arrived to take his seat. He was purposely silent, upright, sitting opposite her, now he was waiting for her to say something. Her refusal was adamant, he had scared her, she wasn’t going to instigate a conversation with him, but his leaden stare was penetrating through the shell of her skull.
She looked up. ‘Is there anything the matter?’ a lame and nervous question, yet by his behavior, it was the only one to ask. How this reminded Cecelia of her father towards her mother.
‘Do you remember that I told you I found that woman?’
A humble, ‘yes.’
‘Well, she wasn’t the one. I found out today that I was given the wrong name.’
‘Oh dear, I’m sorry.’
‘What are you sorry about?’
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